


aesthetic | The Best Laid Plans

by aeslis



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2019-11-01 16:11:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17870480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeslis/pseuds/aeslis
Summary: Nino fantasizes about his teacher.  Aiba still hasn't done it with his girlfriend.  Both of them are ready to make things happen.  But will it work out?





	aesthetic | The Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](https://maiaide.dreamwidth.org/profile)[maiaide](https://maiaide.dreamwidth.org/) in the [](https://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=je_fqfest)[je_fqfest](https://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=je_fqfest) exchange. Thank you to everyone who helped/encouraged me with this, and of course to [](https://maiaide.dreamwidth.org/profile)[maiaide](https://maiaide.dreamwidth.org/), without whom I couldn't have written this. :D

 

Nino is paying attention, just not to class. He's far more interested in the teacher writing on the board with swift, certain strokes, building up sentences of nonsensical English. Sakurai-sensei reads as he writes, and it's cute, his pronunciation. Sharp and clear.

Nino feels a tap, and maneuvers his hand around to intercept Aiba's note automatically.

_You're getting dreamy-eyed again,_ it says, complete with a sketch of Nino with spiky hair and googly eyes.

Aiba, you're a dick, Nino thinks, and then decides to scribble just that underneath Aiba's chicken-scrawl and passes the note back.

Less than a minute later, the tap comes again. Nino takes the note.

Aiba's drawn a dick with a pair of balls, and labelled it _Nino_.

Nino is adding hair and relabeling when Sakurai-sensei wheels around, looking for someone to call on. He's so earnest. He really thinks people are listening. Well, to be fair, most of the girls are. Sakurai-sensei, handsome and just out of college, has a reputation as the school heart-throb.

Sakurai-sensei's eyes meet his, and Nino feels a thrill that shimmers in his gut. (Aiba had probably been right about the dreamy eyes, but Nino's not about to admit it.) For a moment, he thinks there's something there, looking back at him: Sakurai-sensei seems to hesitate, and a few seconds tick by where Nino almost forgets they're in the middle of a classroom.

"Ninomiya-kun, read this, please."

Shit. He probably should have averted his eyes.

He stands up, carefully gathering his book, and slides Aiba's note down the page and out of the way. It's distracting reading English with a sketch of a dick staring back, but Nino somehow manages with a straight face.

It helps that Sakurai-sensei is watching him the whole time. Nino can feel it, and he's getting a little high off it. There's something about the way Sakurai-sensei stares that's full of interest, hopeful.

It's probably because he's a new teacher, not jaded yet by the uphill battle of teaching kids things they don't want to know.

But then again, maybe it's not.

\- -

 

Nino has already taken out the trash and swept the floor. Now he's putting away the equipment: beakers and test tubes freshly washed and cleaned, some still laced with water. They click onto the shelves, tinkle as he places them one next to another.

It's cold. Winter is in full swing, and Nino only has on his school blazer. The central heating doesn't reach this room, and Nino can see his breath when he sighs. Just a few more minutes, and he can go home. Just a few more beakers, and -

Nino's ears prick as the door opens, and there, framed by the hall light, is Sakurai-sensei, already full of endearing concern. "Ninomiya-kun," he says with surprise. "You're here late?"

This is right out of one of Nino's fantasies, and he's not ashamed to admit it (in the privacy of his own mind, of course). Sakurai-sensei walks towards him, a finger tucking over the knot of his tie to work it loose. "Were you waiting for me?" he says. Buttons come undone down the front of his shirt. Sakurai-sensei comes into his space, older and taller and masculine, until his voice is in Nino's ear. "You were, weren't you? You've been wanting this. You've been watching me, I've seen you."

And Sakurai-sensei puts his hands on Nino's hips, pushes him against the shelves so the beakers make musical sound, and forces Nino's legs apart with his knee.

Nino swallows, his fantasy clinging to him like smoke. There is a tight feeling in his stomach, but he very rationally tells his hormones to _shut up, thank you_. Sakurai-sensei is still standing in the door.

"I just had a little bit more to put away," he says. His voice doesn't crack. Fantastic. He's well beyond that age, but a situation like this is more than enough to bring him back to pubescent awkwardness. "Am I in your way? I can move."

And he's about to, but Sakurai-sensei says, "No, that won't be necessary, don't bother yourself," and is _actually coming closer_.

Time slows down as Nino's pulse speeds up. He notices little things, fragmented things, in great detail: the click of Sakurai-sensei's shoes on the tile floor, paced and even; the smell of his cologne (expensive, Nino's mind supplies, though really he has no idea); the roughness of his chin where he'll need to shave in the morning. He's so close, Nino thinks. He's so close, and we're alone.

Nino is a statue when Sakurai-sensei puts a hand on his shoulder and reaches up above them. Nino realizes it's for balance, but it doesn't work, because Sakurai-sensei ends up pressed to his back, a warm blanket that makes Nino's blood sing.

It's not cold, not anymore.

Sakurai-sensei grunts. Nino hears something shift, and then Sakurai-sensei steps back, a folder full of papers in his hand. "Sorry about that," he says, giving Nino a sheepish, careful smile. But he looks startled, Nino thinks. Like something just happened that he couldn't have anticipated.

"It's okay," Nino says. He still feels hot. Breathless. He can't take his eyes off Sakurai-sensei, even though he knows he should. The feel of Sakurai-sensei's hand is burned against his shoulder.

"Um," Sakurai-sensei says, and Nino realizes that he's _flustered_. Nino sees him run his hand down his chest, adjust his tie, and the smile on his face is crooked with enough embarrassment that it's not actually a smile. He's avoiding eye contact.

_Oh my God_ , Nino thinks. There is a bubble of gleefulness in his chest, a wild sort of happiness as he realizes he's been right all along.

"Don't stay too late," Sakurai-sensei says, interrupting Nino's thoughts. He's far away now, in the doorway again. "And be careful on your way home!" And the door swings shut, _shnick_ ing softly home. He's gone.

Nino picks up a beaker on auto-pilot, placing it neatly on the shelf.

_Sakurai-sensei wants me,_ he thinks, and now he knows it's really true. He's not just making things up in his own perverted mind because he wants what he can't have. He places the next beaker, and the next, with artful precision that he isn't even paying attention to. _Sakurai-sensei wants me_.

He needs a plan.

\- -

 

There are lots of breasts in Aiba's magazines. That's okay with Nino, he appreciates breasts too. Particularly this pair that are pulled tight together in a bikini top that's made more of string than fabric. The leggy model is stretched against against a the hood of a Ferrari, feet apart and crotch exposed.

"I bet she'd be good for titty fucking," Aiba says.

Nino frowns at him and turns the page again. "Stop looking over my shoulder."

"You don't think so?" Aiba says, undaunted. "I've always wanted to try. You'd get to hold a boob in both hands."

Nino grabs Aiba's wrist and yanks, not letting him get up high enough to mimic the crude actions he's describing. Aiba giggles kind of like a horse as his butt hits the floor.

"It's too bad Becky's so small," Aiba says when he finally gets his breath back. "Maybe she'd let me."

"You haven't even had sex yet," Nino says, kicking his feet idly. "Shouldn't that come first?"

" _Hey_ ," Aiba says. "You don't know that! Wait, why do you know that? Hey. Hey, you've been talking to her, haven't you?" Aiba is close, _really_ close, getting in Nino's face, his breath hot on Nino's cheek.

"You need to brush your teeth," Nino says, shoving at Aiba's shoulder.

"She did!" says Aiba, pushing back in rough, boyish frustration. "She told you!" He's invading Nino's space, and Nino feels his blood pump. In seconds they're tumbling around on the floor, magazines wrinkling under Nino's back as they skid this way and that, gangly limbs striking out when they can. Nino bumps his head against Aiba's desk chair and thankfully manages to avoid kneeing Aiba in the groin.

But Aiba always wins. Aiba is taller by almost a head, and he's on the basketball team and has all the stamina that comes with it. The only sports Nino plays are with a game controller (and sometimes Aiba wins those, too).

They're breathing hard, Nino pinned under Aiba's heavy hands. Aiba is still too close, hovering over him, expression glazed with the adrenaline of his win.

Nino stretches his neck, and kisses Aiba right on the mouth.

"Oh, _yuck_ ," Aiba says, immediately a body-length away and wiping at his mouth. "That's totally cheating. You ass." He's checking his hands, as if to make sure Nino didn't leave any lipstick-like marks.

Nino bares his teeth in an exultant smile. Kissing Aiba has always been the ace up his sleeve.

Aiba moans, and slumps against the side of his bed. "But she told you! That's so embarrassing. Seriously. That makes me sound so uncool."

"Just because you haven't fucked yet?" Nino says. He doesn't actually care about Aiba's sex life, and he's not sure why Aiba thinks he does. But Aiba has been hung up on Becky for months. Nino knows how much she means to him. "You should make a move already." He pauses, but can't help adding, "I'm going to."

"What?" Aiba says, and Nino can almost see his ears prick like a puppy's. "You don't mean Sakurai-sensei, right."

"Who else would I mean," Nino says, picking himself up off the floor finally, straightening out his shirt so his absurdly pale stomach is no longer on display. "I was right. I was right about him." Aiba is skeptical until Nino narrates the encounter in the supply closet. The memory is still freshly imprinted, each detail standing out in sharply, but Nino glosses over them in favor of the important part: Sakurai-sensei had been affected, too.

Aiba is crowding him again, but this time Nino doesn't mind. It feels cozy with Aiba's shoulder pressed against his and both of them scrunched down together, talking in confidentiality. "What will you do?" Aiba whispers, perhaps louder than necessary.

"I have some ideas," Nino murmurs, and then nudges Aiba. "What about you?"

"Well," Aiba says, ducking so his bangs hide his eyes. He pushes his fingers together, a nervous habit since elementary school. "If Nino-chan is going to be brave, I don't have any excuses."

"Don't do things because of me," Nino warns him, knowing already that Aiba won't listen. But he's not really bothered, because if this is the push that Aiba needs, Nino is glad for him to take it.

"Right, do it Aiba-style," Aiba says. "But Aiba-style takes too long. So it's time to do something." He nods, his shoulders setting into a determined line. He looks at Nino. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right," Nino says. "You should listen to me the first time." And he pushes Aiba till they start to tumble again, the conversation over but not forgotten.

\- -

 

Aiba knows exactly where Becky's class is. Usually he's prompt in going to see her right as the lunch bell rings but today he walks in the opposite direction, against the flow of traffic, to class 2C, tucked in the back of the building. He thanks all his luck (he always does, every time) when he sees Meisa and Satomi still lingering over their desks. They're Becky's best friends, and it's hard to catch them without her.

"Mei~sa-chan, Sato~mi-chan," he says, and is rewarded when they look up and over at him with cutely rounded mouths.

"Aiba-kun!" Satomi is full of sparkles and boundless energy and she looks honestly astonished to see Aiba. "What are you doing here? What happened to Becky?"

Meisa is quiet, sizing him up in stillness. She's like a cat, porcelain faced and watchful, and Aiba likes her but he's never sure what she's thinking until she opens her mouth. It makes him more nervous than he already is, which is considerably if his sweaty palms are any indication.

"About that," Aiba says, eyeing the other people sitting around the class, unfolding bento boxes and picking up chopsticks. "Do you both have a minute?"

They consent to be led out the door and down the hall to a quiet inlet, but both of them are staring at him like he has something in his teeth. "What's this about? Did something happen?" Satomi asks, her expressive face lined with concern. She's cute, Aiba thinks, cute enough to think about kissing, but she doesn't have Becky's wicked sense of humor, which is one of his favorite things.

"I need advice," says Aiba, remembering to keep his voice down.

Meisa looks dubious. He doesn't blame her.

He hasn't rehearsed this enough times, it still sounds stupid, he _feels_ stupid but he says it even though his cheeks are burning: "What would make her first time special?"

Satomi _squeals_. Aiba isn't sure whether or not he's relieved that she knows exactly what he's talking about. Did Becky tell _everybody_? He doesn't understand girls, he really doesn't. "Take her on a trip! A romantic trip, to Hokkaido or to Okinawa, and rent the suite room at a hotel. Or at an _onsen_ with a view over the green landscapes, and you both in yukata, that would be so romantic, it would be _amazing_ , I wish my boyfriend would do that!"

Aiba is swept up in her enthusiasm. He can picture it immediately. Becky in a yukata tied snug around her slender waist, the shoulder opening easily as he hooks his thumb in and pulls.

"Aiba-kun?" Meisa says, pulling him back to reality. "That would be a little too expensive, don't you think?"

"Oh," say Satomi and Aiba in tandem.

"Then, roses," Satomi says, already warming to a new idea. "He could buy red roses, and spread the petals across a bed… whose bed?" she asks herself, tapping her chin. "Probably your bed, Aiba-kun, because you wouldn't be able to get in to prepare Becky's without her, would you? Definitely make it a surprise. And candles, scented ones, Becky likes peach - " Aiba knew that. " - and you have to have good music. Some sexy R&B."

Aiba is trying to take mental notes (maybe he should be writing this down for real, maybe he should take out a pen), but Meisa folds her arms over her chest. "You don't need any of that," she says, sounding more opinionated and adult than any high schooler should. He's startled into looking at her more closely. "That might be what you want, Satomi-chan," she goes on, and Satomi presses her lips together in a sullen pout. "But Becky will laugh at you if you throw petals around, Aiba-kun. Simple is fine."

"Really?" Aiba asks. That means he's really no better than when he first asked.

"Probably," Satomi says, still sulking. Meisa pokes her in the side.

"You'll be fine as long as you're serious about it," Meisa says, warm with encouragement. It transforms her whole face. "That's the most important thing."

Meisa probably knows what she's talking about, since she's been dating Jun for nearly as long as Aiba's been dating Becky. Longer maybe, Aiba can't remember. But she looks so confident, and Aiba doesn't know Jun very well but he has such a reputation that Aiba can't help but think that Meisa is speaking from experience. Somehow, Aiba finds that reassuring.

"Okay," he says, and then firmer, with a salute: "It shall be as you say, Meisa-sensei!"

"Stop it," she says, mellow and a little flustered. "We should get back now, or Becky will start to wonder where we've been."

"She probably already does, actually," Satomi says. She fidgets, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. "You don't think she'll be upset?"

"Upset at you? Maybe," Meisa teases.

They promise they won't tell Becky (Satomi reluctantly, but Meisa pulls rank), and Aiba walks with them past people he knows, back to the classroom, back to Becky. He really hopes that it's as easy as Meisa says. He can't keep sitting on his nervousness forever.

Especially since his parents are going away for the weekend.

\- -

 

Nino has been present all morning. Everyone has seen him half asleep at his desk, barely holding his pencil upright. (He'd been taking more note of the way Sakurai-sensei's ass filled his trousers than anything else.) So he's sure that when everyone filters back from lunch to find their seats, someone will say, _Where's Ninomiya?_

Nobody will know the answer except Nino, and eventually, Sakurai-sensei.

Waiting is really boring. Nino doesn't have his DS, which would be too loud and give the whole thing away. He didn't bring his music player, or anything to do with his hands, so he sits in the corner underneath Sakurai-sensei's desk and quite literally twiddles his thumbs.

He can count down the minutes till the bell rings. Sakurai-sensei should be back soon. Nino knows he's crazy, waiting under tables, but he can't think of any plan that _isn't_ crazy. What's not crazy about trying to seduce your teacher?

The warning bell goes off, and Nino hears feet, and voices, as people start to return to class. Inohara-kun talking about the program he saw on TV last night, a snippet of Nishimori-san gossiping with a gaggle of giggling girls. Feet, feet, and more feet, words lost by the sheer number of voices.

And then Sakurai-sensei is back, walking right into Nino's field of vision. All Nino can see are his trousers and his shiny loafers, but even that is enough to give Nino a rush of adrenaline. He can't back out now.

Time is speeding up and slowing down at the same time. It would be fascinating, if Nino's stomach weren't tangled in a huge knot.

"Okay everyone," Sakurai-sensei says after the final bell rings. There's a sudden, impressive quiet. Sakurai-sensei's shoes squeak as he shifts his weight. "Hmm. Has anyone seen Ninomiya-kun?"

"Not since before lunch," says someone.

"Aiba-kun?"

"He said he wasn't feeling well, so he might have gone to the nurse's office," supplies Aiba's voice. Nino is filled with an abrupt fondness for Aiba for trying to save his ass without any prompting.

"I see," says Sakurai-sensei, and he sounds bemused. "That's too bad. Close your books, everyone." Sakurai-sensei disappears from Nino's vision, footsteps heavy. "Pass these behind you."

There's a rustling of papers. Nino knows exactly what's happening: they're readying their pencils and erasers to take a test. When Sakurai-sensei had announced it that morning, Nino knew it was what he had been waiting for. Sakurai-sensei rarely ever sat at his desk otherwise.

"Begin," comes Sakurai-sensei's voice, and Nino clasps his hands together, trying to breathe quietly. There's no sound in the room but for the scratching of pencils.

Sakurai-sensei doesn't come back immediately. He must be walking the aisles, Nino thinks. He would be glancing at papers and the tops of students' heads, observing, pace slow like a wild cat, hands deep in his pockets. (Nino has secretly observed him before during tests, since he's always done before Aiba and always has to wait.)

So Nino is good at being patient. He uses the time to think of what he intends to do, mental preparation. Because this is no small thing, and he knows it. There's every chance he could end up in the principal's office, or even expelled. But he doesn't think so. Not if he's read Sakurai-sensei right.

And then Nino hears the weighted fall of feet coming back, and Sakurai-sensei's chair is wheeling away from him. He pushes farther back into the shadow, making room as his heart rate spikes again. Sakurai-sensei is sitting down, the chair is rolling forward, and it's only Nino's good luck that his knees are spread apart, framing Nino on either side, leaving him undiscovered.

Nino swallows, and gathers his nerve. So far, it's all going according to plan. All that's left is to go for it.

So Nino stops thinking and just _does_ , sliding both hands up the insides of Sakurai-sensei's thighs. Sakurai-sensei's whole body vibrates with surprise, and his knees jump and whack inwards, squeezing Nino between them. His chair wheels backwards until Nino finds himself staring up into bright light and Sakurai-sensei's shocked face. His mouth moves, about to form syllables, but Nino is quicker: he holds a finger up to his lips, and makes promises with his eyes.

Sakurai-sensei stares, frozen.

_Be casual!_ Nino mouths at him. It all hangs on this moment. Nino's chest is tight, his ribs closing in around his heart as he waits to see what Sakurai-sensei will do.

He's looking at all the students bent over their papers, and Nino can see the internal debate in the pinch of his face.

Tentatively, he slides his chair back into place.

Nino's breath whooshes out of him - he hadn't known he'd been holding it. The relief is tangible enough to make him lightheaded. But he doesn't waste time dwelling. He's going to make sure that Sakurai-sensei won't regret this.

He places his hand to the seam of Sakurai-sensei's trousers, feeling for the shape of his dick through fabric that wrinkles and shifts under his fingers. Sakurai-sensei is soft, but it seems like that won't be for long; Nino can already feel the telltale signs that he's waking up, slowly, like on a Saturday morning. Nino pets, fascinated with the slow, steady growth.

He has to be quiet, and so he's very careful when he unbuckles Sakurai-sensei's belt, keeping his fingers on the clasps as he tugs the tail of it free. He wonders what Sakurai-sensei is doing… pretending to write something in his book, maybe, or looking out over his class while attempting to maintain his composure. Nino is already on his buttons and zipper. He pulls it down with extra care, tooth by tooth, watching it split apart.

There's a moment of distraction when Nino realizes that Sakurai-sensei is wearing boxers with pickles on them. Tacky, thinks Nino. Tacky, but still somehow adorable.

But the moment doesn't last long. Nino is already dipping his fingers into the hole of his underwear, and in one smooth movement, he's tugged Sakurai-sensei free.

Sakurai-sensei still isn't completely hard, but it doesn't matter to Nino. His belly does a flip, and then a skitter, as he looks his dick up and down. It's a warm apricot color, and his foreskin is hiding the tip like a secret. The sight makes his balls tighten, because this is no fantasy, this is _real_ , right in front of his eyes.

He must look too long, because above him Sakurai-sensei subtly clears his throat.

Nino leans forward, and licks. This isn't as easy as he'd imagined: Sakurai-sensei's erection swings away from him with the press of his tongue, and back to bump his lips. This happens twice before Nino realizes he needs to hold the base. It's warmer than warm, and alive with Sakurai-sensei's pulse. Nino tries kissing it, sucking on just the tip, and gets a slow leak of warm saltiness that spreads through his mouth.

Nino is sure that Sakurai-sensei has gotten blowjobs before, and in all likeliness he won't be able to compare, so he doesn't even bother to try. Instead, he does what he's always wanted to do. The only issue is that he has to do it without letting anyone else hear him, so noisy sucking is out, but licking is very in, and he licks at the head of Sakurai-sensei's dick so that he can feel the slit drag against the bed of his tongue.

He hears a soft grunt, and Sakurai-sensei's thighs tighten against him.

Nino's knees are starting to ache against the linoleum, so he shifts, easing his weight harder onto Sakurai-sensei. It's not ideal, because now Nino's just as worked up as his teacher, his own arousal blooming against the back of his zipper, and he doesn't have a free hand to reach for it. But he has enough to do, and waiting will only make it better.

Sakurai-sensei's hand finds him after another minute of muffled sucking. Nino sees it from the corner of his eye before it cups the back of his head. He's gentle, but Nino can still feel the urgency in the way his fingers press against the back of his skull. It's all he can do not to moan.

The taste of Sakurai-sensei is getting thicker. Heady drop after heady drop diffuses through Nino's mouth. And when Sakurai-sensei's fingers clench in his hair, he realizes why. Sakurai-sensei's dick spasms once against Nino's tongue, and then Nino's mouth is full to overflowing and he almost chokes on his surprise. He barely even registers Sakurai-sensei's soothing stroke down the back of his neck, being too busy trying to swallow and not drip anything on Sakurai-sensei's pants.

Mercifully, Sakurai-sensei is quick to offer him a handkerchief. It's there before Nino even realizes he's moved, and Nino takes it gratefully, mopping up what's left on his chin. Then, with just as much care as before, he tucks Sakurai-sensei back into his pants and buckles up his belt so that nothing looks amiss.

Then he slumps back, and worries about himself. If only he could have seen Sakurai-sensei's face. How had he looked? Nino has a vivid imagination, and that helps. As he's rubbing his own hardness he pictures it: Sakurai-sensei attempting stoicism in front of a classroom, each seat full but one. Maybe his mouth twitched here, and maybe he stared out the window while biting down on his tongue. Nino can see all of this, and in doing so a spike of pleasure fills his belly, hot and tight.

It's almost embarrassing how quickly he comes, but at least he has Sakurai-sensei's handkerchief to empty himself into.

Nino spends the rest of the class in a glazed state of come-down with only his breath and Sakurai-sensei's shoes for company. Ten minutes, thirty - he doesn't really notice, or care. Eventually, he hears students starting to get restless as they finish their tests.

"Good, put it here," Sakurai-sensei is murmuring.

"Sensei, are you hot?" It's Aiba's voice.

Nino pays a bit more attention.

"What? Oh, yes, the heater - the heater seems to be on too high today." He's probably sweating. Nino feels abruptly guilty that he can't hand him back his handkerchief. "But you seem okay?"

"You should take care of yourself," Aiba says. "Well, see you tomorrow!" And he walks out the door, oblivious.

Silence falls. Everyone has gone. Finally, Sakurai-sensei stands up, leaving a window of space for Nino to crawl out of, and he does, trying to look braver than he feels inside. He gets to his feet, shaky from being tucked in a ball for so long.

Sakurai-sensei is leaning against the desk as if it's all he has to hold him up. He doesn't look at Nino, but Nino notices the sheen of sweat along his temples and the nape of his neck. "Do you know what you've - " He pauses. "What we've done?"

"Yes," Nino says, folding up the handkerchief, small and neat. He can't give it back without washing it. "I sat under your desk and gave you head, and you let me, and I enjoyed it."

"That's awfully concise," Sakurai-sensei mutters.

"There's no point in beating around the bush," Nino points out. He hesitates, and then adds, "I want to do it again. I really like you."

"No," Sakurai-sensei says immediately. He draws himself to his full height, spine straight with determination, but Nino just thinks he's trying to convince himself. Sakurai-sensei has always been transparent like that. "I can't take advantage of a student. You're… what? Seventeen. That's too young, Ninomiya. It's not right, and you know it."

"You think so?" Nino says with a calm he doesn't completely feel. He'd been prepared for a fight, but that doesn't make it much easier. "It's not right? What _is_ right? To ignore the fact that I want you, and that you want me too? Teachers are always saying _follow your dreams_. Teachers say to reach for the stars, to believe in yourself. Don't you believe that too?" Nino takes a step closer, gratified to see that Sakurai-sensei is watching him warily, waiting for the other proverbial shoe to drop. "Isn't that what's right? I know what I'm getting into. I've run through all the scenarios. You could get me expelled, if you wanted. I may be seventeen, but I'm not that young. I know what I want."

"So it seems," Sakurai-sensei says. Nino can see that he's weighing Nino's words. "And if I did try to get you expelled?"

"You won't," Nino says. "That's not the Sakurai-sensei I know."

"That's a lot of faith to have."

"You think?" Nino takes another step, drifting slowly closer, and Sakurai-sensei doesn't pull away. "…What would it take to prove that I'm serious?"

"Oh, I can tell you're serious," Sakurai-sensei says, shaking his head in wonder. "But I don't - "

"What," Nino interrupts him, listening to his heart more than his head, "would it take to make you serious about _me_?" Nino is close enough now that he can feel the hint of Sakurai-sensei's breath. They're as close as they were in the supply closet, and Nino warms at the memory.

If anyone were to walk in then, there would be no alibi. Neither would be able to explain away their proximity, nor the long look they're trading. Nino can feel the air around them like a cloak drawn close.

Sakurai-sensei kisses him first. Nino's mind almost doesn't catch up before he's kissing back, tilting his nose aside as butterflies burst into his heart. Sakurai-sensei has years of practice and a mouth that's sinfully soft, coaxing gasps from Nino. If Nino had had the power beneath the desk, Sakurai-sensei has it now.

When they stop, Sakurai-sensei presses his forehead to Nino's. "What am I getting myself into," he mutters.

"A relationship," Nino says, and kisses him again.

\- -

 

When Nino finds Aiba later by the school gates, Aiba says he's glowing.

Nino smacks him, but doesn't deny it.

\- -

 

Aiba is all prepared. He bought new condoms on the way home just in case (different types, because he couldn't _choose_ ) and his sheets are crisp and fresh. He's even cleaned his room, hidden his dirty underwear in the closet, and taped up a WARNING DANGER sign on the door so she doesn't get any bright ideas about snooping.

Becky rings the doorbell an hour later. When he opens the door, she's standing square on his front porch, her duffel held in both hands and dimples on her cheeks. "Here I am!" she says, and gets up on her tiptoes to kiss him before she's even out of her heels.

It's a fluttering kiss, and she pulls away before he can even start. "Yes, finally," he says, and tries to kiss her again.

"No no," she says, laughing as she pirouettes out of his grasp. "I'm _starving_. You've thought of that, haven't you?" But she has on one of those knowing looks that makes Aiba as close to exasperated as he gets. They both know that he's had his mind on things that aren't food. "Then it's time for some Becky cuisine!"

There's something to be said for Becky in an apron. She's brought hers from home, a soft blue one reminiscent of Alice-in-Wonderland with white lace on the pockets. Aiba sits down on a stool and watches her bustle around. She knows where the silverware is, and the tinfoil, and in fact she's so comfortable in his kitchen that, watching her, it's easy to think they've been dating forever.

"Where do you buy things like that?" Aiba says, watching her chop onions into neatly diagonal slices.

"My apron?" Becky says. "Surely that's not what you really want to know."

"Eh?"

"You're thinking about getting under it," she says, and then licks her thumb. "Admit it."

Aiba gawks, at a momentary loss. "I was not!"

"Were too."

"I was _not!_ "

"Ah, you sound like a five-year-old," she says. "How juvenile!" It's off-handed in its dismissiveness, so Aiba knows she's teasing, but Becky's teases always have a basis in what she really believes.

"Not like you were being any more mature," he sulks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Women are always more mature," she says easily, and ignores him in favor of the chicken.

Aiba doesn't stay moody for long, though. The smell of her cooking is more than enough to soothe his most ruffled feathers. And then the smell of something burning makes him leap off his stool.

They eat it in awkward silence. Aiba tries to compliment her, but she effectively shuts him up with the "You're just saying that to be nice" line, which isn't true at all. It's only charred on one side, completely edible and much better than what he's done for himself in the past. (He doesn't count what he's cooked for Yusuke, that was burned on purpose.)

"Thank you," he says after his plate is clean enough to make his mother proud.

"For what?" she says, still grumpy, twisting up a corner of her napkin. "I ruined it."

"That's not true," he says. He wishes she would understand. He'd been so happy to see her, and all the thought she'd put into it. Her apron might be more appropriate for a doll than a person, but she'd brought it just for this. She'd pored over her hand-printed recipe as she hummed and stirred, and when she'd concentrated, the bridge of her nose had crinkled and the only word he could think was 'adorable'. And she'd done it all for him.

It slams into him like a battering ram: _she's been trying to impress him this whole time_.

"Would you make it again for me?" he asks.

She looks at him suspiciously from across the table. "Are you serious?"

"I don't get family cooking a lot. I get leftovers from the restaurant, usually." He looks shyly down at his plate and the curly patterns of the leftover sauce. "Eating this made me happy."

"Well," she says finally, looking him up and down as if she's still trying to find something to be annoyed with, "okay, then." She gains a note of resolution: "I'll make it better next time, too. Just wait."

Under the table, he mixes his feet with hers, and feels a warm glow when she finally smiles back at him.

Which of course should lead to _getting in bed_ , but Becky has other ideas, Aiba discovers. First, they have to wash all the dishes, because "a dirty kitchen is a restless heart," and okay, Aiba can admit that trying to cover each other in bubbles is fun. Drying up isn't so fun, but he manages.

Which is when Becky declares that it's shower time.

"Okay," Aiba says, teenage hormones going _zing_.

"You're not coming," Becky informs him. She's rummaging through her duffel, taking out fascinatingly bright pouches that contain god only knows what. "I am taking a shower to get _clean_."

Aiba digs his toe into the carpet, adopting the sheepish look that usually makes girls coo over him. It's never worked with Becky before, and it doesn't this time, either. She sweeps by him and shuts the bathroom door behind her with a click that echoes disappointment into Aiba's very soul.

So he plays video games. At least, he tries to: he keeps imagining Becky in the shower - in _his_ shower - while he's stomping on koopas. He can see her in vivid detail, swirling soap over her breasts and down her soft stomach while the water rinses it away in a waterfall.

A koopa shell rebounds back at him and smacks him in the face. Mario death-music plays, and Aiba grumbles. What would it be like to walk up behind her and take those breasts in his hands, the nipples tweaked between his fingers as he cups them? Her skin would be hot and flushed and he could push against her backside - he jumps on a series of goombas - and then suck on the back of her neck while he rolls against her.

He takes Mario down a pipe and concentrates half-heartedly on shooting more goombas with his firepower. The coins make distracting ding-ding-dinging sounds as he jumps around.

He doesn't know what Becky sounds like when she moans. He's heard her gasp through kisses, but that's the extent of it. Building on that, he tries to imagine. Maybe low? Or maybe she'll make kittenish mewls each time he thrusts into her?

"Dammit!" He hits pause instinctively, but the damage is done: he's frozen halfway into falling to his doom. Sighing, he unpauses, and manfully takes the death music in stride.

"You're not doing very well, are you?" Becky says. Aiba jumps. When had she come in? She's standing at the end of the couch toweling at the ends of her hair, which are wet and dark and snaking against her fingers. She has a fluffy terrycloth bow headband on. It suits her, even if Aiba doesn't really understand it.

"Think you could do better?" he says, hoping like hell she doesn't notice the half-formed hardness in his trousers.

"Gimme that," she says, snatching the controller from him. The couch bounces when she plops into it, right next to Aiba so he can smell _his shampoo_. If he wasn't hard before, he is now. Damn. He takes deep breaths, which doesn't help much.

But Becky is good at Mario. She does impressive double-triple-quadruple jumps and smushes enemies left and right. Aiba feels a fierce pride watching her. This is _his girlfriend_ , and no one could be more awesome.

He yawns very loudly, drops his arm around her shoulders, and then exults when she leans against him.

Aiba is nosing into her damp hair (and getting partially poked in the face by her floppy bow) when she says, "Nino-chan seemed really happy today. Did something good happen?"

Aiba doesn't really understand how Nino is so popular with Becky and her girlfriends, or why he's coming up _now_. Sure, they're in drama club together, and sure, Nino's amazing at improv and can make everyone laugh without trying. Maybe it's just Aiba who sees what a frustrating geeky nitwit Nino can be. But Nino's charmed the pants off of her, and so Becky flutters over him like a mother hen (Aiba would be more jealous if Becky hadn't already figured out that Nino is gay).

Her latest concern is his love life, and actually, Aiba doesn't blame her. Nino has been watching everyone else jump in and out of relationships for the past couple of years.

"Actually, yes," Aiba says, grinning ear to ear. "Something very good, in fact."

Mario is forgotten, the controller half sliding out of her lap as she wheels on him. "What? Tell me!"

"Nino's wishes might have come true~~" Aiba says.

Becky gapes. "Sakurai-sensei? No way. No, you're totally serious, aren't you?" Her face is so expressive, Aiba thinks: alight with awe and shock and excitement. "I'm so _happy_ for him. He'd better be careful, but, oh, wow."

Aiba giggles. "He was pretty happy too." He curls his arm in tighter around her, taking advantage of her enthusiasm. He can feel the solid warmth of her body through her predictably pink pajamas. The controller thunks against the floor.

"I bet he was," she says, whispering now. She's noticed how close they are.

Aiba's fingers twitch, tugging at the hem of her pajama top. He expects a sharp comment, or a shove, because she's forever shoving him, but she lowers her eyes instead, so he can barely see through the rim of her lashes. Aiba's heart makes an extra loud _thump_. "Becky…"

She doesn't say anything. She's toying with the collar of his shirt in a way that tickles, suddenly shy, and it's intriguing. Aiba curls his fingers over her ear, the dampness of her hair brushing against his knuckles. Her face tilts, and Aiba can take a hint.

Gentle, he kisses her. He doesn't need to overwhelm her with all the pent-up frustrations of the evening, even if they're all her fault, because now she's here, a sweet weight lying against his chest, and he can kiss her all he wants.

He wonders how long it'll take to get her naked.

"Aiba-kun," she says, pulling back to stare pointedly into his lap. "Really? Already?"

His cheeks go hot. "Don't mind that."

"A little trigger-happy, aren't you?" she says, and he shuts her up with another kiss, heavier, which makes the words catch in her throat as she tries to keep up with him. It's satisfying, the way it makes her cling to him.

Impatience thrums along his bones. He pushes his hands under her pajama top and finally feels skin, and when she doesn't stop him, he feels justified in exploring more: the hard line of her back, the soft flesh of her sides. And then he realizes she's not wearing a bra.

"Hey," he says. Her mouth is curled in a cute 'o' of surprise, but then he had been a bit abrupt, he supposes. "Where's your bra?" He tickles his fingers, as if still hoping to find what he already knows isn't there.

"Idiot," she says. "Who wears a bra to bed?"

"You don't?" Aiba says, disappointed.

She levels a look at him and he knows what that means: she is despairing of his intelligence. "Also, we should probably turn off the game. Unless you like the Mario theme on loop, I mean."

"Oh," Aiba says, sheepish. He actually hadn't noticed, but now that she's mentioned it he can't ignore it. Developing a Pavlovian erection to the Mario theme doesn't sound like a fantastic idea, so with reluctance he stands up and trudges to turn it off.

Her fingers are weaving through his before he turns around. "Let's go to bed?"

That makes him feel better immediately. It's amazing what simple words can do. He leads her there, and there's a hush of expectancy between them. Becky isn't meeting his eyes. She keeps looking at her pedicured toes, and she's pressed her lips together thoughtfully. So she's not expecting it when he pushes her onto the bed and climbs right on top of her, already tugging her pajamas up to expose the white of her belly.

"Aiba-kun!" she gapes, her hands on his head as if she's going to push him away. But she doesn't. She lets him nibble a ring around her belly button and dip his tongue into the middle while she giggles, and slants her knees up around him. It gives him dirty, dirty ideas.

Forget the pajama top. Aiba goes down to Becky's bottoms, tugging the elastic so it slides down her hips. Her underwear is simple, cute, and shouldn't be nearly as sexy as it is. He runs his fingers along the edge, where fabric meets the soft space of her hip. Her knees keep wavering, tipping in shyly, and then out as she gets momentarily braver.

Aiba hooks his fingers in the elastic and pulls, and though Becky bites her lip and stares at the ceiling, she shifts in a way that lets him do it.

Really, Aiba thinks, she is really beautiful. Her hair is making his pillow damp, and she can't seem to figure out where she wants to put her hands, and she's half pink pajamas and half naked legs, and Aiba can't stop staring at her. He just knows he would never want anyone else in his bed.

"Aiba-kun, would you hurry up?" Becky huffs, lifting a leg to kick at him in her embarrassment. He catches her ankle as her heel glances off his shoulder (okay, that hurt, but it wasn't enough to distract him). Her legs are open, and her curls frame a deep, inviting pinkness. Can he really help wanting to look?

He slips a finger against her, and finds her moist. Her mouth opens as she breathes, caught up and waiting to see what he'll do, as if it isn't obvious: he draws up and down, pushing apart the lips so he can see better, and then, once he finds her hole, he slides a finger inside, watching as it disappears. And again, and again, in and out, as her slickness starts to coat him, and he can feel the twitch of her muscles as he tries to push his hand a little deeper. Maybe two fingers? She hisses a bit, baring her teeth when he presses.

"Does that hurt?" he says, suddenly unsure. It feels great to him, but maybe she doesn't like it. But she gives her head a tight, nervous shake. "Okay." And then he thinks of something. "Can I taste you?"

"Oh," she says, still having a staring contest with the ceiling. "S-sure."

This Becky, no one else has seen her. Aiba is the first to watch all her confident walls come down, to see her spread herself wide open. He likes it; he likes the gap between his prickly, strong Becky and this soft, girly Becky in his bed. He feels lucky that she trusts him so much, even when she's not sure of herself.

The space between her legs is hotter than he is. Becky smells like something he can't name: a little sour, a little sweet. He laves his tongue against her, and the taste is even richer, enough so that he can't stop. She's making those hot gasping sounds, like she's trying to be quiet, and he can feel her twitch. When his tongue slips inside her, she actually moans. He's never once heard her moan before. It runs through him, and his arousal jumps against his trousers in approval.

Well, not approval of the trousers, and they've been constrictive for the last too long, so Aiba gives in and worms around, trying to get his pants undone without actually lifting his head. "What are you _doing_?" Becky says, finally looking at him in exasperated bafflement. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, though Aiba can tell she's trying to quash it, which he's grateful for because being laughed at during sex might just kill his boner. "Just sit up and do it."

"I almost had it," Aiba complains, but does as she says anyway. He has to admit, it's a lot easier.

Now, it's Becky looking at him. Aiba suddenly understands her embarrassment. He wants to fold his hands in his lap and tell her to look at something, anything else, but that wouldn't be fair, so he sits resolutely and waits. "Where are the condoms?" she says, looking as pink in the cheeks as he feels.

He points before he can get his tongue unstuck. "In the drawer."

Becky curls her legs under herself as she dumps them over the coverlet. "Whoa," she says. And then: "Neon? Seriously?"

"There were lots of kinds, I didn't really know - I mean…" He looks at them all, feeling chagrined. "They all seemed like fun."

"They didn't have any normal ones?" she asks, picking up the box of ribbed ones. "Oh. Let's… can we try these?"

"Sure," Aiba says immediately. She opens the package, and he gets rid of the rest, dumping them sloppily back into his drawer. "Lie down again," he says. It takes him a second to get the condom on - he should have practiced - and by then she's waiting for him. She seems to have settled on gripping his pillow.

He moves over her, heavy on one elbow. "I'm really sorry if it hurts," he says, because it's probably going to, but there's not much he can do about it.

"It's okay," she breathes, and abandons the pillow for his shoulders instead.

It's slow, because it takes Aiba a minute to figure out where to aim. He fumbles, and she squirms, and then she kicks a leg up over his back and all of a sudden he's aligned. He can feel her body give way to him, and it's _amazing_. Nothing at all like a handjob. The heat pulls him in as she breathes under him in short pants, wide-eyed and tense.

So he kisses her. He tries to tell her just how amazing he feels, just how much he loves her. About the tingles that are marching down his back and the heat, her heat, that's enveloping him, making his brain signals crash and all his thoughts disintegrate.

He rocks against her messily, and she holds onto him, keeps him close. It's hard to keep kissing, but the way their bodies move against each other is more than enough to make up for it. She's whining his name in his ear, and he tries to pay attention, but it's all feeling, up and down.

His orgasm is fast, and washes over him in a heat wave. She's still clinging to him when the shudders stop. He feels completely wrung out and on top of cloud nine, and she's the best pillow he could hope for when he sinks on top of her and noses at her cheek.

"Wow," he says, head still spinning.

"Hm?" Becky starts petting at his hair. "Good?"

"Oh," he says with every ounce of feeling in his body: "Yes. _Good_." So he's gone a little caveman-esque, so what.

She sounds shyly pleased. "Good."

\- -

 

On Monday, Aiba passes Nino a note that says _Sex is gr8!!_. Nino doesn't write back, but Aiba does get a thumbs up before Nino goes back to staring at Sakurai-sensei. Aiba can't tell if it bothers Sakurai-sensei or not.

It's not till Tuesday that the problems start. Aiba gets a strange feeling right when he gets to school. Everything seems normal when he looks around: girls giggling together, and everyone lagging on their way to class, preferring socialization to study. But something is off.

He hears about it at lunchtime, from Yamashita-kun. "Is it true?" he says, catching up to Aiba in the hall and grabbing his elbow to slow him down. "Ninomiya-kun and Sakurai-sensei?"

Aiba's mind bursts in panic. "What?"

"You haven't heard?" says Yamashita-kun, surprised. "Everyone's talking about it. Some people think they did it in the equipment shed, but other people say up on the roof. No one knows for sure."

Gossip, Aiba thinks, feeling dizzy. That was why it had seemed so odd this morning, why everyone had been dragging their heels and leaning into each other's whispers. "No," he says, and tries to laugh about it. "What, that's crazy! Who would believe that?" His smile feels awkward. He has to find Becky.

She stands up from her bento the moment he gets to her classroom and drags him out into the hall. Her face is whiter than usual. So, she's heard, too. Try as he might, he can't think of any way for anyone to know that didn't go through her, which means through him, too. It makes him feel sick.

"Aiba-kun, what do we do?"

"He's going to kill me," is what Aiba says. "And I'll deserve it."

Becky bites her lip. "It might not - I mean, maybe it'll be okay." But he can tell she doesn't really think that any more than he does.

"What happened?" he asks. "How did everyone find out?"

"I told Meisa and Satomi-chan," Becky admits, shamefaced. "I was so happy for him, and you know, they're fond of him too, so it just seemed like… Honestly, I don't think Satomi-chan meant any harm, but she told somebody, and then and it just… it just kept going," she finishes weakly.

Aiba closes his eyes. Holding Becky makes him feel momentarily better, even though it doesn't fix anything. "He's gonna be devastated."

Becky nods. She knows. "I'll watch out for him," she says, and squeezes his hand.

\- -

 

On Wednesday, Sakurai-sensei is called to the office for a meeting. They have a substitute in the morning, and class is subdued, everyone full of questions but no one knowing enough for answers. The substitute rattles things off without checking to see if anyone is paying attention, which Aiba is thankful for because he couldn't pay attention if he tried.

Nino has been acting normal. So normal, in fact, that Aiba is temporarily tricked into feeling relieved, despite the fact that he knows Nino is not okay at all. He's still talking to Aiba, and keeps telling Aiba to shut up when he apologizes. But when he smiles it doesn't reach his eyes.

Aiba sees it, but doesn't know what to do about it.

\- -

 

What Nino doesn't tell Aiba is that things aren't as easy as they seem. Of course they're not, he's now the target of everyone's attention, and _everyone_ includes Sakurai-sensei's fanclub. Nino has thrown out several nasty letters that he found in his shoe box already. Or at least, he assumes they're nasty: he didn't read them, because he doesn't really want to know. The rubber snake had been harder to ignore, and he'd gotten a number of sideways looks when he danced a little jig after it fell on his feet.

But he can't blame Aiba, not really, nor Becky, nor Satomi, nor anyone else. He'd been the one to tell Aiba in the first place. So Nino doesn't tell Aiba about the notes or the snake or the pages ripped out of his books, because knowing Aiba he would take all the guilt upon himself unnecessarily.

So Nino keeps his mouth shut. He can put up with it. That's not the problem.

The problem is that Nino has no idea what's going on with Sakurai-sensei. After the mysterious and much talked about Wednesday meeting, he had come back to class like nothing had happened at all. And Nino certainly wasn't going to be the one to raise his hand and say, _How did they take the rumor?_ No one else had obliged him either, though Nino knew they'd all been thinking about it.

But Nino notices the difference that no one else does. Sakurai-sensei won't look at him at all. He stands at the front of the class with his pointer and his eyes roll over Nino like water. Nino even tries raising his hand, but the one time Sakurai-sensei actually calls on him he doesn't know the answer, and Sakurai-sensei moves on without skipping a beat.

Nino doesn't tell Aiba about this, either, but Aiba's more observant than he lets on most of the time. "What are you going to do?" he asks in an undertone during lunch on Friday.

Becky passes Nino homemade cupcakes, and Nino doesn't have the heart to refuse, even though they're a little salty. He knows she made them to try to cheer him up. He takes slow bites, unwrapping the paper bit by bit. "About what?" Nino says.

Becky and Aiba exchange a glance over Nino's head that he's not supposed to see. "About Sakurai-sensei," Becky says.

Nino shrugs. "Nothing."

"Yeah right," says Becky in a no-nonsense tone that makes Nino look up with surprise. Becky is sitting on her heels, dipping her finger in the icing of her own cupcake. "You made things happen before. You took a risk. You got an answer, and maybe you were lucky, but you got the one you wanted. And now you're going to sit on your butt and do nothing?" She waggles her pink-tipped finger at him. "Unacceptable."

Aiba, Nino notices, is hiding a smile.

Nino gets it. He knows that he doesn't know the whole story, but he also isn't sure he _wants_ to know it. And after already causing this kind of trouble for Sakurai-sensei, he doesn't think his presence will be welcomed.

Still, what Becky's saying has merit. After he went through all the trouble, and took all those chances, what's one more step into the dark? Maybe this time is only scarier because he's had a taste of what he might lose. He hovers over his cupcake, too distracted to eat it. "Unacceptable, huh? You make a compelling case, Becky-chan."

"Thank you very much," she says primly, and gives Aiba a smug look.

"So you're going to talk to him?" Aiba says, airily ignoring it.

"I guess so," Nino says. He's not sure how he's going to do it, but he might as well, even if his gut is twisting into knots at the thought.

"Good, that's settled then," Becky says. "Now why didn't either of you tell me I used too much salt in these cupcakes? You're _both_ cowards."

\- -

 

Nino discovers that not only isn't Sakurai-sensei looking on him or calling on him, but he's also avoiding him. He tries staying after class, but gets too many sidelong looks from students, and Sakurai-sensei strides out the door with quick footsteps before the room is even empty. Nino isn't one to play stalker, so he doesn't bother hanging around the main office.

But it doesn't take him long to figure out what to do. On Friday he cuts the whole day of classes and waits until after school when students stream out the doors into the winter sunlight, leaving for their homes and part-time jobs. When he walks in the door of his classroom, it's empty but for Sakurai-sensei, who is still at his desk, shuffling through what looks like homework. He looks up when he hears Nino, and freezes.

"Hi," says Nino, tugging his scarf down so it doesn't obscure his mouth.

There's an aching moment of silence that presses against Nino's heart. The whole room feels close around him, but all he can see is Sakurai-sensei's ruffled hair, the argyle sweater-vest that he wears once a week, and the worry-lines around his eyes that make him look more tense than he ever has before. "Ninomiya-kun," he says, and then sinks back into his chair, rubbing at one cheek. "I guess I should have figured you'd turn up. You seem to have an affinity for making surprise appearances each time you mysteriously vanish."

Nino nearly blushes, and he tucks his chin down into the warmth of his scarf to hide for a moment. The seconds tick by until Sakurai-sensei sighs. "I can guess why you're here." He indicates a seat. "Sit down."

Nino really would rather stand, because he has a sinking feeling he's not going to be here long, but he sits down anyway. The chair creaks under his weight. He doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything.

But Sakurai-sensei does the talking for him. "You want to know about the meeting, don't you?" His eyes are kind and keen at once. "Especially how it relates to you. Because you're right if you think that it does."

"That's why you've been avoiding me," Nino says, and Sakurai-sensei has the grace to look shame-faced. It's cute, Nino thinks inanely.

"The vice-principal was calling for my dismissal," Sakurai-sensei confirms. "He said that rumors like this bring a bad reputation to the school. He's right, of course. Who would want to send their child to a school with a teacher that has a reputation like that?" He smiles humorlessly.

Nino's mouth tightens. It's not fair at all. But he knows the way people think, and even if he doesn't like it, he can't argue against it. "You're still here though," he says.

"Yes," Sakurai-sensei admits. "I didn't expect to be, but here I am." He rolls his pencil between his fingers and looks off into space. "The principal stood up for me. He said that it would set a precedent if they let me go. It wasn't as if you had come forward and complained, after all, so they didn't have any proof." Sakurai-sensei gives Nino an inscrutable look. "And if the students could chase away any teacher with a rumor, there would be nothing to stop them starting rumors about any teacher at all. The vice-principal looked a bit shocked at that."

"I'd love to start a rumor about that nasty fart," Nino mutters.

Sakurai-sensei's smile is half-quirked with knowing. "So would I."

Nino is momentarily startled, but it changes quickly into pleasure: there haven't been many times he's been able to see Sakurai-sensei step out of his teacher role.

"But," Sakurai-sensei says, and stops. He looks torn, and he's staring at Nino in a way that's making Nino's heart beat irregularly with dread.

"But?" Nino whispers.

Sakurai-sensei rubs his chin. (It's a nervous habit that Nino noticed months ago, but he's been using it more lately.) "But obviously this can't work," he finally says. The words sound hollow, and yet ring with finality as they nail into Nino's chest, lodging there. "It's too dangerous for both of us."

Nino can't move. His feet are rooted to the floor, and his legs are stone heavy. "Is there anything I can do to change your mind?" he says, desperation making his brain fly fast, but he can't think of a single thing.

Sakurai-sensei shakes his head. He's looking kind, too kind, as all at once their roles settle back upon them, the teacher and the student. Nino feels the distance that grows between them almost physically.

"Okay," he says, and somehow manages to stand up. He bows, because it seems like the right thing to do. "Thank you."

Then out the door without looking back, but he can't leave his disappointment behind him: it rides heavy on his shoulders all the way home.

\- -

 

Nino hates school. He doesn't raise his hand anymore and he doesn't even bother trying to pay attention. Aiba doesn't poke him in the back nearly so often, either, and when he does pass notes it's usually about their classmates' short skirts or an invitation to get curry after school. He's learned to avoid the topic of Sakurai-sensei, but Nino can still hear him thinking about it.

Or maybe that's just because he's always thinking about it, too.

It's stupid, he knows it. Really, mooning is cliché, like in bad dramas and foreign movies, but he doesn't have much else to do with himself, and Sakurai-sensei is right _there_ after all. It's distracting, so he tries to distract himself from the distraction by looking out the window and thinking about games.

His grades sink. He gets three quizzes back with fat red penmarks up and down the columns, all with Sakurai-sensei's writing marking up the top with cookie-cutter comments like _Let's try our best!_ He shoves each one into his bag and lets it crinkle into nothingness, smushed under his books.

The days get colder. There's snow overnight, and Nino trudges with frozen feet through the slush each morning. He mumbles curses about the school's dress code and their insistence that everyone wear loafers despite the fact that they have to take them off when they get to school.

Then one Wednesday morning Nino decides that it's stupid to go to school anyway. All he does there is imagine he were anywhere else. When his snooze alarm goes off for the fourth time, he turns it off permanently, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.

\- -

 

Aiba stops by immediately after school. Nino expected him, but he didn't except Becky to come by too. He's a little miffed about that, because while he could convince Aiba into anything (and has many times), Becky is like a typhoon that won't take no for an answer. She lets herself in, takes off her shoes, and wanders into his mother's kitchen without being polite about it.

"What are you doing here?" Nino whispers in a furious aside to Aiba.

"We were worried," Aiba says. He's frowning, and Nino knows he's serious because usually when Aiba frowns he's trying to hide a laugh, but not this time. "We know you're not sick. Well, not sneezy sick anyway."

"I could have been," Nino says stubbornly. "Who says I wasn't?"

"Nino," Aiba sighs, and Nino instantly feels guilty. Aiba knows him too well for him to get away with faking it. "You didn't come to school on purpose."

"Here," Becky says, materializing at Nino's side with a cup of hot tea. Nino isn't sure how she found it or made it so fast, since she's never been in his house before, but it warms away a bit of the chill. She hands a second one to Aiba before leaning against the wall.

"Well, so what," Nino says, staring into his tea.

"We can't make you come or anything," Aiba says. "But we thought we'd stop by anyway."

By the time they leave, pulling their coats up around their ears and holding hands despite their fat gloves, Nino is feeling better than he expected to. Two hours with Aiba being _Aiba_ is like an espresso shot of happiness, and Nino had been surprised at how well Becky had fit into the mix. She hadn't chastised him or lectured him once, but all her skillful teasing of Aiba had Nino laughing more than he had in days.

There's something to be said for friends, he thinks, closing the door behind them. Even if they're nosy and fussy and having a lot more sex than he is.

\- -

 

Nino still doesn't go back to school. He plays games all morning, afternoon, and night, until he's trembling with exhaustion and malnourishment. His mother doesn't find out. She leaves at six in the morning for work and isn't home until after dinner, and Nino tells her school is just fine, thanks. Aiba comes by four times that week, sometimes with Becky and sometimes not, though it's usually when Becky is around that he gets food forced on him. It's not that he's shunning it, really, he just forgets when he gets all wrapped up in his controllers and characters.

Halfway through the second week, Aiba shows up with a yellow envelope and a curious expression. "This is your school stuff."

Nino shoves it to the side, barely looking away from the television. "I don't need it." He's decided he's going to do great things. There's no need for school. He's going to be an actor that steals hearts and offers them back with a smile that can twist anyone around his little finger.

"I think you should open it," Aiba says, unusually determined.

"Why?"

"Sakurai-sensei said to make sure you do. He was pretty insistent."

"Like I care," Nino says. Trust Aiba to bring it up. Nino pointedly plays his game in silence for the next few minutes, sending out signals of irritation in a bid to get Aiba to go away.

"Well, I'll open it, then," Aiba says.

Nino rolls his eyes.

"Hey," Aiba says, and when Nino ignores him some more, he speaks a little louder. "Nino, Nino you really need to look at this. _Look_." Aiba shoves paper in his face and Nino is momentarily disoriented by the blurry red that's obviously Sakurai-sensei's writing, because damned if he doesn't have a love affair with that pen.

Nino wouldn't read it, honestly, except that the word _karaoke_ catches his eye. "What?" he says, and snatches the paper from Aiba.

He hadn't misread. It's a message that's not empty words of encouragement like a teacher is supposed to say to a student: it's an invitation. _I want to talk to you. If you're inclined, come to the Big Echo in front of Mejiro station at 5 tomorrow afternoon._

Aiba is wiggling his eyebrows in a distracting attempt at being suggestive. "What'd I tell you? Eh? Eh?"

"It's not what you think it is," Nino mutters, letting the paper flutter to the floor like a leaf during autumn. "He's just trying to get me to go back to school."

"Then why would he want to meet you at a karaoke booth?" Aiba points out.

It all makes too much sense to Nino. "He can't very well meet me at school, can he? That's too suspicious."

"Sure," Aiba says, elbowing Nino annoyingly in the ribs. "But you're going to go anyway, aren't you?"

"No," grunts Nino.

\- -

 

That had been a lie, and they both knew it. At five o'clock the next day Nino is giving Sakurai-sensei's name to a chipper, crisply-uniformed girl behind the desk, and she points him at the stairs after telling him Room 304.

Nino doesn't think too hard about what he's doing as he trudges up the stairs. He just puts one foot in front of the other and keeps his hand on the rail, and when he reaches the proper door he pushes it open without even giving himself a chance to stop and second-guess.

The room's lights are up. There's a basket of french fries on the table next to two microphones and the bright white light of the television is flickering faintly over everything.

And there's Sakurai-sensei. But it's not the Sakurai-sensei that Nino knows: he's dressed in jeans, which makes Nino's brain short-circuit just a little bit. "I see Aiba got my note to you," says Sakurai-sensei, who doesn't seem to know whether to smile or be serious. "Here, sit down."

Sakurai-sensei moves over, which he doesn't actually need to do because the bench is long and he's already halfway down it, but Nino plops into the seat without question.

"Fries?" Nino says, feeling an inane need to say something.

"What? Oh. Do you want some?" Sakurai-sensei passes the basket.

It's pretty surreal. Nino can't quite resolve the Sakurai-sensei in front of him with the one at school: they're clearly the same man, but Nino could easily pretend right now that they're not. It's almost like a date, Nino thinks, except he's smarter than to believe that.

"I'm okay," Nino says politely.

Sakurai-sensei eyes him a little too long for his liking, but doesn't push the issue. He puts the basket aside. "I'll get to the point then," he says. "Do you know why I asked you here?"

"To get me to go back to school?" Nino says, slumping against his seat, which probably makes him look sulky.

Sakurai-sensei hesitates, but then nods, slowly. "Your absence is being questioned by the board," Sakurai-sensei says. "You'll be expelled if you miss more school. But let me guess," he says, settling his hands on his knees. "What you're staying away from is me, isn't it?"

That stings too close to the truth. "I have plans," Nino says defiantly. "I'm going to be an actor. I could do it, too." The words are sharp and unpolished, and even to Nino they sound like an excuse.

"I don't doubt that," Sakurai-sensei says carefully. "But graduation is coming up. You could wait till then, couldn't you?"

"Why should I?" Nino says. "I don't need a certificate to be an actor. I don't need anything but myself."

Sakurai-sensei levels a look at him. "What would it take to get you to come back?"

Nino doesn't know. If he were to be truthful with himself, which he won't, he misses school. He misses Aiba's stupid notes and Becky twirling around corners, he misses lunchtime with the girls (they always gave him extra snacks) and drama club with its inanities and improv. He misses the stupid sound of the school bell, and he really misses watching Sakurai-sensei teach, so earnest and ready to laugh with his students.

But he's not being honest, and he just can't take it. "I've already decided," he says, and steals a fry from the basket before standing up. He's wasting his time.

Sakurai-sensei's hand catches his wrist and holds it tight. "No," he says, his voice more imperative than Nino has ever heard it. It's enough to take all his attention away from the eye-catching video promotions on the television screen. "I mean it. I… I'm not going to lose you like this," he says, looking unusually distressed.

"Lose me?" Nino echoes wonderingly. "You're the one who said it was a bad idea."

"It is," Sakurai-sensei says. Nino can see the inner struggle, and doesn't know how he missed it before. It's even more of a shock than seeing his teacher in jeans: Sakurai-sensei honestly _wants_ him. "It is, I know it is, and I thought that was the right thing to do, but you stopped coming to school, and I didn't think I'd be so bad at handling that." The words come out in a rush of urgency. "But here I am."

Nino stares, frozen in place. Any minute now he's going to wake up, curse his subconscious, and mope around the house for the rest of the day.

"Come here," Sakurai-sensei says. Nino actually isn't given a choice about it, though, because Sakurai-sensei pulls him into his lap and Nino has to grab at his shoulders to keep from being an awkward tumble. He can feel muscle under his thighs and Sakurai-sensei's collarbones beneath his hands, and two seconds later Sakurai-sensei is kissing him and making no attempt to be polite about it.

Nino is caught in the whirlwind, his heart beating like the thunder of drums as his mind tries to catch up with what's going on. Before he can, Sakurai-sensei pulls at his hips, turning Nino forward so he's sitting between Sakurai-sensei's knees, Sakurai-sensei's chest pushing against his spine with each deep breath. There are lips on his neck, fierce and soft at the same time. Nino grips at the table in front of him, knuckles whitening. "Is this your bid to try to get me back to school?" Nino even manages to keep his voice even.

Sakurai-sensei splays one palm over Nino's stomach, holding him in place. "If you tell me to stop, I'll stop," he says.

"Like I could say something like that," Nino whispers.

Sakurai-sensei doesn't touch him gently. His hands are heavy and rough and drag Nino's clothes this way and that as they find the shape of his body beneath. Nino's nerves prickle with electricity everywhere that Sakurai-sensei touches, and when his palm goes right between Nino's legs and squeezes unapologetically, Nino stops breathing altogether. He's absurdly happy he didn't wear jeans.

There's a bit of a scuffle as Sakurai-sensei works him out of his pants, Nino lifting his hips to help until they're down to his knees. It's only an afterthought to look for the security camera. "Someone's going to see," he says, starting to doubt the wisdom of this whole situation.

Sakurai-sensei kisses his ear. "No one will notice from this angle." And okay, yeah, the table is in the way, but -

Then Sakurai-sensei's hand is on Nino's dick, and he stops bothering to worry about it, because _oh_. Nino stares. Just looking is almost as arousing as the handjob itself: Sakurai-sensei is pulling with long, pressured strokes, right off his tip. His hands are masculine, and look good on Nino's dick, better than Nino's own.

It's warm in the room. Nino wishes he had taken off his jacket, because he's starting to sweat, even with his pants down. A moan echoes through him as everything starts to build and build, and his dick aches wonderfully.

So it's incredibly disorienting when Sakurai-sensei just _stops_. "Use this," he says, and Nino can't quite believe it. He's holding one of the microphones up to Nino's mouth.

"You're _dirty_ ," Nino says with a frustrated pant. It echoes back at him, embarrassingly loud.

"The extra commentary isn't necessary," Sakurai-sensei says, sounding more cutely sullen than a teacher ought to.

He starts to pump again, and Nino's body enthusiastically answers, tingling with pleasure. With skillful hands, he coaxes sounds out of Nino's throat that Nino hadn't even been aware he could make, and each uneven gasp and groan fills the tiny room through the microphone. Nino hopes desperately that no one hears him through the walls. Behind him, Sakurai-sensei hums, and Nino feels his arousal under his hips. Nino isn't going to last long at this rate.

His orgasm comes hard and fast, rippling over his skin before his dick jumps and he comes in hot jets that splatter over the table, and then he's lost among the stars, his whole body fuzzy with relief.

Sakurai-sensei tucks him carefully back into his underwear after cleaning him up with a conveniently placed wet napkin, and hugs Nino around his middle. "Are you okay?"

Nino is great, actually. He feels like he's been on the rollercoaster from hell these last few weeks, but at least right now he's soaring. He's never had a more fantastic orgasm and he doesn't want to let go of it. "How am I supposed to answer that?" he mumbles, still a lazy lump.

"Traditionally 'yes' or 'no'," Sakurai-sensei answers, sounding worried.

Nino squirms, trying to pull up his pants. He leaves them unbuttoned but gets himself turned over enough to make eye contact and put his hands on Sakurai-sensei's chest. There's the intriguing promise of muscle beneath his shirt, and Nino lets his hands roam. "I don't know," he admits. "This isn't what I expected what I came in." Not that he minds. He very definitely doesn't mind.

"It wasn't what I intended to do," Sakurai-sensei admits, settling his hands on Nino's hips. "I was thinking we should lay low, until graduation."

"Wait a minute," Nino says, his eyes narrowing. _Until graduation_ presumes a few things which Nino hasn't even agreed to, but he lets that slide for now. "You're not trying to bribe me, are you? That's not appropriate behavior for a teacher."

This doesn't seem to have even occurred to Sakurai-sensei. His mouth works for a moment. "That wasn't what I meant," he says, alarmed in that special way of his.

"Well, I'll think about it," Nino says with attempted indifference. "If you tell me five sexy things about myself."

"Five?" Sakurai-sensei sputters.

"I could make it ten."

"No, five, five is good," Sakurai-sensei says promptly, and Nino laughs until Sakurai-sensei finally figures out that he's joking. His face is priceless.

"I didn't know you were so gullible," Nino says. He wants to kiss Sakurai-sensei again, but somehow, even sitting in his lap, it doesn't seem like the right thing to do. He picks up Sakurai-sensei's hand instead, playing with the fingers, admiring the masculinity of them all over again.

"Let's not tell the world," Sakurai-sensei says, sounding resigned. "Though I'm fairly sure it already knows."

Nino hesitates. "Are you sure I can't visit your place on the weekends, or something?"

At Sakurai-sensei's regretful smile, Nino's hopes sink down to his knees. "That'll be the first thing we do when you graduate," Sakurai-sensei promises.

Graduation can't come too soon, Nino thinks fiercely.

\- -

 

Nino doesn't tell Aiba. It's not that he doesn't trust Aiba anymore, because he does, and he's sure that Aiba would guard the secret with his life after what happened last time. But he also knows that the best kept secrets are ones never told.

He goes back to school the next day, after a struggle with his alarm clock and finding a clean pair of underwear. Aiba leaps up from his desk when he sees Nino and drags him right back out the door into the hallway.

"What happened?" he says, and then shushes himself when he belatedly realizes that there are ears on all sides. But his eyes beg the question.

"I got bored being at home," Nino says, punching Aiba in the shoulder. It's totally weak and Aiba might as well not even notice for all the attention he gives it. "You didn't visit me enough."

He's almost smothered when they go eat lunch with the girls. All three of them are happy to see him, and Becky even promises to make his lunch for him the next day, since he's stuck with cold cafeteria lasagna and bread.

"You don't have to," Nino says, remembering the incident with the cupcakes.

"No is not an acceptable answer," Becky informs him primly.

"What about me?" Aiba pouts. "You never make my lunches."

"You are such a _mooch_ ," Becky sighs. But the next day she brings three lunchboxes, and Aiba's has strawberries cut like hearts inside. Her look dares anyone to mention it.

Nino keeps his head down so she can't see him smile. It feels good to be back.

\- -

 

There are lots of things Aiba wants to know, but he stops asking once he realizes that Nino's avoiding all his questions. For the most part, he's just happy that Nino's back in class and there to pass stupid notes to. Sakurai-sensei purposely ignores their transgressions, though Nino is more studious than Aiba has ever known him to be before. He takes _real_ notes instead of just doodling in margins.

That in itself would've been enough of a hint that there's something going on, but plus Nino's sudden lack of emo waves makes Aiba sure that there's a story behind all this. He makes it up for himself, but he's pretty sure he's not far off.

\- -

 

There are good things and bad things about going shopping with Becky.

More good than bad, admittedly. Aiba likes fashion, and Becky likes fashion, and when they go shopping they stay in each store for hours, picking through dangly earrings in the shapes of hearts and tarot cards and octopi (for her) and bracelets made of onyx and checkerboard tape (for him). And Becky is opinionated, but whenever she asks Aiba which scarf or t-shirt he likes better, it's always the one she buys. He loves it when she wears them because she always looks beautiful and he can say that he helped.

Admittedly he doesn't really understand the nail stickers (much less the nail _feathers_ ), but that's okay.

But there are a couple of things that Aiba could live without. The first is having to carry all her bags, because she buys a _lot_. The second is when she gets stuck in the changing room trying on outfits that would last her from Monday through Sunday. Like now.

"You're not done yet?" Aiba grouses, fluttering the curtain that's hiding an undoubtedly half-naked Becky from his view.

"You don't have a patient bone in your body," she retorts. "Why don't you go look at the mannequins or something?"

"That's boring," Aiba says. There's a thread on the curtain. He starts to pick at it, twisting it around the tip of his middle finger.

He hears a huff, and then the rings hold up the curtain clatter and Becky is standing there with her hand on her hip. She's trying on the Hawaiian sundress that was on sale at the front of the store. "You could do something helpful," she says, and hands him off three dresses that she must have finished with without showing him. "Would you put these back for me?"

Aiba ambles around the store, trying to remember where each dress goes. It doesn't take him long, since he'd watched her pick each one up. He's back at the dressing room five minutes later, scratching his nails against the curtain like a puppy. "Beckyyyy."

"What!"

"Let me in."

"Are you nuts?" she says, but she's distracted with whatever she's trying on and not taking him seriously.

The thing is, Aiba _is_ serious. Serious enough to do go in there without invitation, and before he can even finish that thought he's opening the curtain and shoving inside.

Becky shrieks like a teapot and jerks around, hair flying in a whirl of ebony. She's got a dress in her hands instead of on her body, and Aiba gets an eyeful before she pulls it to her chest like a towel. " _What the hell!_ " she yelps, walloping him on the shoulder.

"I told you I was bored," Aiba complains, though he can't say he's bored anymore. There are too many things to look at, from the emerald green straps of her bra (her _bra!_ ) to the swoop line of her spine reflected in the mirror behind her. This is _much_ better.

"Just what am I supposed to do with you?" Becky sounds like she does when he slops tea on his pants.

"Are you all right in there, miss?" Aiba jumps, nearly whacking his head against a clothes hook. He'd totally forgotten about the sales clerks.

Becky rolls her eyes expressively. "Just fine!" she says, giving Aiba a warning look, and either the clerk believes her or is too polite to persist. They listen as her footfalls disappear under the store's trendy music. Aiba sags in relief.

Becky is still shielding her body with the dress. It's not a bad dress, honestly, but Aiba likes it better off her than on her. "So, what?" Becky says, keeping her voice carefully low just in case. "You're going to watch me change?"

Aiba makes himself comfortable on the changing room's ornate little bench. "Yup!"

He wonders if anyone else realizes how Becky has changed these last few weeks. Ever since they've slept together, Aiba has seen it. She's more confident in herself, and more confident in herself with _him_. He's noticed it in small ways, like how she'll kiss him goodbye at the end of lunch and how she's stopped getting frustrated at her imperfections. She laughs instead, and hides her face against Aiba's shoulder so he can hug her extra hard. She's softer when they're alone, and doesn't push off his hands if they wander too low or too high.

And now she's letting him watch her get changed, which one month ago would have been a pipe dream.

"What do you think?" she says, gathering the hem to put the skirt on display.

He thinks he wants to see what's underneath again. "Too long," he says.

"It's a mini-skirt!"

"That's what I said," Aiba tells her, preparing to be smacked. It's an old habit.

But Becky doesn't do it, she just shakes her head and says, " _Boys_ ," and starts pulling the dress over her head. Aiba watches as her legs lengthen, and her panties come into view, a pair to the deep green of her bra, and then it's her smooth tummy and both breasts rimmed in lace. He's in heaven.

And also a little bit of hell, because he's starting to get more turned on than he should in the middle of a mall. He tries to ignore it, but he's not so good at ignoring things, not when Becky is right in front of him sliding in and out of her clothes. It's an exhibition of all the places he loves to put his hands.

Surprisingly, Becky doesn't notice. Usually she has eyes in the back of her head where Aiba's concerned, but she's paying more attention to her dresses, clicking through the hangers and rearranging things. She hums along to the store's music under her breath as Aiba looks at her butt and thinks about putting his hands on it to feel the way it curves.

Aiba tries to remind himself that they're in public and it's a bad, bad idea. Really, really bad. Badder than sleeping with your teacher (not that he would ever say that to Nino). His dick informs him that it really doesn't _care_ , and in fact, being in a dressing room is very exciting.

Aiba is only a teenage boy, after all.

"Becky?"

"Hm?" She's selected a polka-dotted thing with shoulder straps that tie up with ribbon.

Aiba catches the dress before Becky can take it off the hanger and puts it back with the others before he kisses the astonished 'o' of her mouth. "What," she manages to get out before he kisses her again, and then, "Aiba!" and, " _Hey_." He tucks her hair behind her ear, still trying to kiss her when she pushes both palms flat to his chest to get some space. "Seriously? Here?" she whispers, clearly having her own set of doubts.

Aiba's brain scrambles around all his lust to come up with something to say that will convince her. "I couldn't stop looking at your ass," is what comes out, which isn't ideal, but he gives it a squeeze for good measure. "If we're quiet, it'll be fine, right?" That sounds better.

Aiba feels her waver. He dots a kiss to her nose, which always makes her smile. It works this time, too, her lips shaping a tentative curl. "You're never quiet," she reminds him. But her arms go around his neck, however nervously, and Aiba cheers triumphantly within the safety of his mind.

He pushes Becky up against the wall, right next to the mirror, and this time when he kisses her, she kisses back. It takes a little more encouragement, but soon her nails are pricking against his neck by accident as she matches his fervor. His dick throbs pleasantly in approval.

It's rushed. He's pretty sure that changing rooms don't have time limits, but it's still looming over them: the clerk could come back at any time to interrupt, and that spurs Aiba on, pushing his hands right where they want to go instead of letting them detour on the way. Becky squeaks into his mouth when Aiba rubs at her panties, searching for wetness. When she suddenly stiffens, her mouth falling open to drag in a breath, he realizes he must have found her clit.

"There?" he murmurs, circling his fingers.

Becky doesn't fall apart, but it's close. She almost bites his lip, and she _does_ bite her nails into his skin. It short-circuits Aiba's brain, and he pulls her panties down in a hurry, pushing two fingers into her at once. She's hot inside, plush and sticky, her muscles contracting around Aiba's fingers.

The way she rolls against him is gloriously wrong. She's making whimpering sounds that go right between Aiba's legs, and Aiba's impatience pushes him a step farther.

"Becky?" he says into her hair. He starts undoing his belt, trying to hold her up at the same time.

When Becky opens her eyes, she immediately sees the problem. She hesitates, though. "Do you have a condom?"

Aiba wishes so hard that he did. "No, but - even just by hand…"

"'Just' nothing." Becky's gotten enough of her breath back to grumble. She helps him with his zipper, pushing his clothes out of the way till his dick pops up, arrowing in her direction.

Aiba's forehead falls against hers when she closes her hand around him, and he shuts his mouth hard on a moan, willing all the ones to come after to stay locked in his chest. She works him with an eccentric rhythm, and Aiba feels sweat on the back of his neck and in his armpits as she stokes the fire. From the corner of his eye he sees them in the mirror, him bowed over her, her panties closer to her knees than her hips, his dick pushing into her hand.

His orgasm comes over him in a rush of glitter, sparkling behind his eyelids. He hears Becky shushing him, feels her still touching him as he empties himself all over her leg, but all he can do is hum as the tension and heat seeps from his body.

"That was the best orgasm ever," he sighs.

"I'm so glad. Now how about getting off me?"

Oh. He supposes he is sort of trapping her against the wall. He's heavy-limbed and loathe to move, but he kisses her cheek and sits down on the bench again, letting her busy herself with finding some tissues and getting herself clean. Thankfully, she has a few in her bag. When she's done, she tosses the wad of them into his lap. "Present," she says sweetly. He heaves a sigh when she pulls on her clothes, hiding all her pretty peachy skin again.

She peeks out of the changing room before she opens the curtain in a hurry and shoves him out, leaving the clothes she was trying behind her. When they get out into the main walk of the mall she finally slows down, covering her eyes with her hands. "I cannot believe we just did that."

Aiba giggles. "It was _fantastic_."

"I'm never letting you into my changing room again," she vows. But she's hiding a smile, and wraps her fingers tighter in his when he takes her hand.

Aiba is definitely going to start keeping a condom in his wallet.

\- -

 

Winter starts loosening her fingers on the world. The mornings turn crisply golden, and the trees remember how to be green. Spring comes, with her rainshowers and her flowers and the music of the birds.

Spring is just what Nino has been waiting for, because spring means graduation.

\- -

 

The day is as perfect as any day is supposed to be. The sakura are like raindrops, twirling through the air to catch in the girls' hair. Everyone is photogenic in their robes, smiling as cameras flash and parents laugh, and the world already has a nostalgic glow, as if everything has turned into a memory before it's even faded into the past.

In the theater the principal drones on about promise and potential and the wonderful youth of today, and Nino sits at attention and does a good job of looking interested even though his mind is far away. He, like everyone else, is thinking about the future.

Sakurai-sensei is there, sitting on stage amongst all the teachers in their formal black suits. Nino watches, butterflies flitting lazily in his stomach, as Sakurai-sensei claps after every poignant remark. They've barely had time to talk together these last few weeks, but on their last day of classes Sakurai-sensei had caught him before he was out the door. Nino knows where to meet him after the ceremony. They're going to go to Sakurai-sensei's apartment.

The wait is achingly long, but finally, finally, a cheer goes up amongst all the graduates, and hats tumble through the air. Nino is no longer a student.

\- -

 

Nino knows where he's supposed to go, but getting there seems to be a problem. There are people everywhere, walking in his way. No one seems to want to leave. Nino manages to maneuver himself halfway to the campus gate when he hears his name.

"Nino! Hold up!"

When he turns, Aiba is threading through their classmates with Becky at his side.

Aiba catches his arm before Nino can protest and pulls him into a hug that crushes all his breath away. "We did it! We did it, _you_ did it, we graduated!" He's nearly dancing, doing an awkward little spin and dragging Nino along for the ride, all his enthusiasm spilling over onto Nino. Nino can't help it - he laughs.

"Aiba-kun! You're going to smother him," Becky says, and helps detangle them. Aiba immediately wraps his arms around her instead, squeezing. They're so happy that light spills off them, and not for the first time, Nino is glad that they found each other.

"What are you doing now? You should come with us," Becky says. "We're going out for dinner in celebration."

Nino knows he wouldn't be interrupting. They've always had room for him. But there's someone else waiting for him, and Nino has been anticipating this day for too long. "Sorry," he says, not really feeling sorry at all. "I have somewhere else to be."

Aiba blinks, and then looks at him more closely. "Are you going to see Sakurai-sensei?"

"What?" Nino says, a moment of panic thumping in his chest. He knows he didn't tell anyone. "How did you…?"

Becky's mouth falls open. "Really? No." She looks at Aiba, and then Nino, her eyes blue and big and hopeful. " _Really_?"

"I know you better than you think," Aiba giggles, and then throws Nino an outrageous failure of a wink that makes Nino groan. Why does he have to have an observant idiot for a best friend? "It wasn't really hard," Aiba admits. "You never cared about graduating until you came back to school. And you started looking at Sakurai-sensei like _that_ again. But don't worry, nobody else noticed."

"What are you hanging around here with us for?" Becky says with delight. She takes Nino's hand in both of her own and kisses him on the cheek, just a flutter. "Hurry up!"

They wave, Becky bouncing on her toes, before they vanish back into the crowd. Fondness envelops Nino as he watches them go. Idiot though Aiba might be, the two of them are the most awesome friends he could ever hope to have. He wishes them all the happiness in the world.

\- -

 

Sakurai-sensei is waiting for Nino at an old café that takes so many backroads to get to it's nearly invisible. By the time Nino finally finds it his nerves are jumping all over the place, the lazy butterflies going mad in his stomach now. It's not that he's _scared_ , exactly, but it's too easy to imagine something going wrong. What if Nino made a mistake?

But he hasn't. Sakurai-sensei is there just like he promised, and stands up when Nino walks in.

They don't say anything. There's really nothing to say. Nino follows him to the train station, and they ride to the part of the city Sakurai-sensei lives in, twenty minutes away. Nino only pretends to watch the buildings and smokestacks that sweep by outside. Every part of him is focused on Sakurai-sensei standing next to him. Nino can hear him breathe, an even in-and-out. When the train bumps, Nino sways closer to him until they almost touch. The air around them is so charged he thinks someone ought to notice, but nobody does.

Sakurai-sensei's apartment isn't far from the station. Nino counts every step, and shifts his weight awkwardly when they get to Sakurai-sensei's door and he has to pull out his keys.

It turns out that Sakurai-sensei's apartment isn't very large. Nino tries not to stare, but it's the first time he's been here and curiosity gets the better of him. The front room is tiny, things fit haphazardly into the corners. Nino couldn't precisely call it tidy. There are old newspapers on the table and a used coffee mug, a drip of dried coffee winding down one side. A huge shelf takes up one wall, stacked meticulously with CDs. Nino leans in for a closer look, and recognizes only a few of the names on the spines.

"Would you like a tour?"

Nino starts. Sakurai-sensei has taken off his jacket and loosened his tie and his top buttons, and he's watching Nino patiently. Nino's mouth goes dry. "Sure."

They look at the kitchen, which doesn't interest Nino at all, but he's not surprised when Sakurai-sensei informs him he uses the microwave more than the oven. The bathroom is like a closet with a shower in it, the toilet seat is up and the bath rug crooked. Sakurai-sensei hastily rearranges it. "Pretend you didn't see that."

When they walk into the bedroom, Sakurai-sensei closes the door. Nino hears it _snick_ home, closing them in. Nino closes his eyes, but he can still see the bed waiting in front of them, the sheets turned down as if Sakurai-sensei had prepped it before he left that morning. Apprehension curls under his skin. He can't tell Sakurai-sensei he's never done this before.

Sakurai-sensei puts his hand on Nino's hip, and Nino feels all his heat bleed through his clothes. "Are you ready?" he murmurs.

Nino shoves down all his doubts, turning around in Sakurai-sensei's grip to dig his fingers into Sakurai-sensei's shirt, kissing him hard. He puts everything into it, all the minutes and hours and months he's waited. He doesn't want to wait anymore. He's full of energy, need tripping down his fingertips as he shakily tries to undo Sakurai-sensei's buttons.

Sakurai-sensei's chest swells under his hands, filled with a breath he almost doesn't let go of. He scoops Nino up, dropping him onto the bed so that the sheets bounce, and then crawls on top of him, his shirt falling open down to his navel.

The unhurried way that Sakurai-sensei strips him is maddening. First Nino's graduation robe, spread underneath him like a blanket, and then his shirt, which gets caught on Nino's elbows. Nino's nipples are already hard, and his dick is throbbing in his pants, waiting to be freed, but frustratingly enough Sakurai-sensei stops before he gets there.

Nino forgives him, though, because he sits up and pulls off his shirt, showing off a body that Nino is sure doesn't belong on a teacher. He looks like he could pick up two of Nino with no problem at all. The thought shouldn't turn him on as much as it does. "Do you work out?" Nino says, awed.

"Sometimes," Sakurai-sensei admits with a sheepish smile, but he doesn't elaborate. His thumb slides up Nino's stomach, and then over the valleys of his ribs, aiming for a nipple, and when he pinches at it Nino forgets entirely what he had been about to say, or even if he had been about to say anything at all.

Sakurai-sensei explores, and Nino is helpless under his hands. He leaves sore spots on Nino's neck that are sure to be bruises in the morning. Every move he makes is confident, and in comparison Nino feels lost. Sakurai-sensei tickles along Nino's sides, making him kick, and then licks a long stripe from his navel down to the button of his trousers. Nino is shaking when Sakurai-sensei finally helps him take off his pants.

But he's sensed Nino's confusion, and he comes back to kiss Nino's open mouth. "We don't have to do it today," he says, low. His palm is a heavy weight on Nino's stomach, rubbing in soothing circles that slowly leech away Nino's tension.

Nino can hear the clock on Sakurai-sensei's bedside table. It sounds slow against the racing of his heart. "Don't stop."

Sakurai-sensei frowns. He's about to say something else that's doubtlessly unnecessary when Nino decides he needs to be distracted and cups him between the legs. Sakurai-sensei's erection fills his whole hand, and when Nino rolls his palm, he moans. "Really," Nino says, as insistent with his voice as he is with his hand. He needs Sakurai-sensei to feel what he's feeling till he can't ignore it anymore. "I really don't want you to stop."

Whatever self-control Sakurai-sensei had been exerting seems to go out the window. He pushes Nino's legs apart and takes hold of his dick, stroking him with those sure strokes that Nino remembers from the karaoke booth.

When they're both panting, and Sakurai-sensei has finally gotten off all his clothes, he opens up the side table and shows Nino what he reaches for: lube and condoms. Nino nods, and wraps his arms around Sakurai-sensei's neck.

Sakurai-sensei uses a lot of lube, but Nino doesn't complain even though it drips cold tendrils down his skin and pools under his ass. He's too busy trying to relax. He can feel his muscles give, contract, and slowly give again as Sakurai-sensei's knuckle works in and out of him. It's not as hot as he'd hoped, and his erection wilts, but before he can get too embarrassed about it Sakurai-sensei kisses one of his eyes and tells him it happens that way all the time. They take it slow, Sakurai-sensei checking before he inserts another finger and carefully scissors Nino open.

Then he bucks, scrambling for better purchase and panting out a moan, because Sakurai-sensei has touched something inside him that's lit every nerve on fire. And then again, and again, until Nino's blood sings and his vision is fuzzy. When Sakurai-sensei pulls his fingers out, Nino whimpers at their loss.

Sakurai-sensei breathes against his mouth, the muscles in his shoulders bunching as he moves over Nino and slides his hands under Nino's thighs, pushing them up towards his chest, and Nino thinks he should be more embarrassed at how exposed he is but he feels too good for that. The bed shifts as Sakurai-sensei plants his knees.

Sakurai-sensei's dick against his hole is nothing like a finger. The bluntness of it feels too large to be real, and Nino freezes up, his breath caught in his lungs. "Wait, I--"

Sakurai-sensei kisses him. Nino tastes the salt of sweat on his upper lip. They kiss again and again, languid, tender kisses that let Nino breathe. Slowly, the tightness in his chest loosens.

"Okay?" Sakurai-sensei murmurs. His hair has fallen rakishly into his eyes. He's still on the verge of penetration, holding himself as steady as he can on his elbows. There's concern written into every line of his body, and Nino knows that if he said 'stop', Sakurai-sensei would listen. He trusts him.

Nino nods, pressing their foreheads together.

It's so slow that every inch burns itself into Nino's memory. Their bodies rock, Nino sinking into the mattress, Sakurai-sensei's balls a soft _thump_ against his skin. Nino feels messy, and dirty, his temples prickling with perspiration and his ankles locked low on Sakurai-sensei's spine. But the longer they go, the easier Nino's moans come, and the tighter the arousal coils, white-hot in his stomach. Soon, it's not enough.

"Faster," Nino pants, his fingers carding through Sakurai-sensei's damp hair. "Please." He kisses at Sakurai-sensei's jaw with moist sounds that echo the crude _shluck_ that fills his ears each time Sakurai-sensei slides home. " _Please._ " He tries to shove his hips up, to meet Sakurai-sensei halfway for more force, to take him deeper.

Sakurai-sensei shudders with a ragged groan, as if he's fighting with himself. Nino drags his nails down Sakurai-sensei's back and squirms. His dick bumps against his stomach, too sensitive, which just winds him up more. " _Sensei!_ "

Sakurai-sensei's knees dig into the mattress, and he surges deep enough to shove Nino higher up the bed. Nino forgets about everything but holding on, digging his fingers into Sakurai-sensei's back hard enough to leave white marks, whimpering with each pulse of Sakurai-sensei's hips. Static collects in his veins, drawing him tighter and tighter, and when Sakurai-sensei takes hold of his dick, Nino comes like a bright light, convulsing as Sakurai-sensei keeps pounding into him.

By the time Nino is riding out the last stages of his orgasm and is opening his eyes, Sakurai-sensei shudders, holding Nino to his chest. Nino watches as his eyelashes flicker and his mouth opens to show the pink bed of his tongue. It's the first time Nino's been able to see his face as he comes.

For a long moment, neither of them moves. And then Sakurai-sensei reaches from some tissues to clean them up, dabbing at the drizzle of Nino's come. Nino doesn't expect the emptiness he feels without Sakurai-sensei's dick inside him, nor the fatigue that creeps up on him while Sakurai-sensei is disposing of the condom.

When he comes back, he tucks them both under the covers, cradling Nino against him. Nino can hear the beat of his heart from where his ear presses against Sakurai-sensei's naked chest. The scent of sex still lingers in the air like smoke.

Sex isn't what Nino had expected. It's uncomfortable and raw, and has left him sore and exposed and somehow still wanting to do it again and again. But it's also tender and unashamed, with moments of trust that seep in between them to leave a funny squirmy feeling in Nino's stomach.

Nino's pretty sure that Sakurai-sensei has a better understanding of love than he does, but this just might be it.

\- -

 

_Epilogue_

 

Aiba's yearbook is dogeared, and some of the pages have been taped back in with loving hands. He looks back on high school as often as he can, claiming they're some of the best years of his life. Oh, sure, those that came after were great, too. Aiba liked his part time jobs okay, and marriage is great, and his kids are the cutest things, cuter than their two teacup poodles even when they draw on the walls in permanent marker.

Becky is pregnant with their third, and Aiba has never seen her more beautiful, even when she's throwing towels at him and having those unnatural cravings that always seem to happen when the grocery stores are closed. After all these years, he has never regretted that she has been the only one to share his bed.

Aiba doesn't see Nino as often as he'd like to, because Nino really did become an actor and he's on airplanes more than he seems to be at home. But when they do get together, Nino brings Sho (Aiba isn't allowed to call him Sensei anymore, which was awkward for a while, but Aiba supposes it would be more awkward if they kept calling him Sensei forever). Aiba is happy that they've somehow made it work. Sho is Nino's touch-down spot, the place he goes home to after sleeping in strange beds all over Japan. When they visit, Sho always has presents hidden in his pockets for the kids, and they play hide-and-seek behind closet doors while Nino steals tastes of things in the kitchen and shamelessly flirts with Aiba's wife.

Sometimes they take out Aiba's yearbook and look through all the messages, remembering Satomi and Meisa and Jun, and laughing at Nino's sulky picture that makes him look like he'd just woken up from a nap. Aiba misses those days, but he has to admit: things have turned out better than anyone could have hoped for.

…And he still keeps a condom in his wallet, just in case.


End file.
